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re the reason we don’t sound like every other hard rock band.”
“Excuse me?” Molly’s voice went haughty and shrill.
West sighed. “Mol, we’ve never had a problem with your pipes. Re-fucking-lax. We’re talking about the band as a whole.”
“If he’d pay attention at rehearsal, we’d be fine. He’s just counting the minutes to get out of there.”
Ryan fisted his hands in his pockets. “There’s no magic in an empty room. Of course I don’t like rehearsal.”
“If we have a solid setlist and know what you’re going to play, then we can plan accordingly.”
Ryan whirled on Molly. “There’s no spontaneity to that. If we drill it down to the nuts and bolts of instruments, we take the joy out of it all.”
“Really? Is that what you’re feeling onstage when you’re digging into that trunk? Joy? Or are you missing the interaction of the band with the crowd? Or are you taking attention off us—”
“You?”
Molly jerked back as if she’d been slapped.
“Isn’t that what you meant?” Ryan snarled.
Molly’s face went expressionless. Immediately he felt like an asshole, but she was already climbing back into her bunk. “I emailed the tentative setlist to everyone. See that you read it.”
“Good job, man.”
Ryan tipped back his head. “We’re a band, not her backup band. When is she going to realize that?”
“Molly is Molly. The setlist is tentative, as she said. We make changes all the time, you know that. She just happens to be really good at putting them together ninety percent of the time.” West leaned against the bunks. “And she’s being harsh, but then again, she’s that way about everyone. You’re not special—at least not in that regard. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
West wanted to pull a smile out of Ryan, but he wasn’t ready to give it. Had he really been that off-base about his role in the band? Maybe his I-can-play-anything thing was getting a little thin, but it usually got people talking about them. And in this business, buzz was half the success. Get the fans talking about them and the more a single soared.
It had been working with the last three songs they’d released.
“Guess I’ll just pick three instruments tonight and stick to them.”
“Man, come on. That’s not what she means.”
“No?” Ryan shouldered his way past his best friend and into the bathroom. West stood on the threshold before he could close the door. “Do you mind?”
“I’ve stood next to you when you pissed.”
“Just for that, I’ll go for door number two.”
West’s nose wrinkled. “No shitting on the bus, you know that.” He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “Look, all she means is that sometimes it’s a distraction when you’re digging away for some instrument you have a wild hair about. If you could just pick out the majority of them beforehand, we’d be golden.”
Ryan leaned over the sink and soaped his hands. The lingering scent of Denver was all over him. She was all of his good choices lined up in a row. He curled his fingers into the towel above the sink. Bands were about compromise. And as much as he loved the impromptu flavor of their songs, he hated to admit he missed some of the best parts of their shows because he was looking for some instrument in his case.
“I hear you,” he said finally.
“We’re magic, man. Can’t you feel it? We’re so damn close.”
Ryan met West’s gaze in the mirror. “Let’s take a look at that setlist.”
“All right, all right.” West added a little Matthew McConaughey twang.
He followed West to the front of the bus and found Elle strumming quietly on her acoustic.
She didn’t look up. “Everything cool?”
